


A Thousand Lifetimes Until I see Your Face

by Noxsie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxsie/pseuds/Noxsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has waited for Arthur for so long that he's almost given up. Every life has been passed in disappointment. But this time, everything feels different. If only Merlin knew why.</p><p>(Or the modern!au reincarnation fic in which Merlin is a sales assistant, Arthur is a Hugo Boss model and neither of them really know who they are)</p><p>Based on this post:  http://bdazzle.tumblr.com/post/41926148779/apparently-while-waiting-for-arthur-to-come-back</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title may change if I get struck by some inspiration. All mistakes are mine.

He can feel it. He's 67 years old and he can feel the end coming for him. That's why he returns to Avalon, because that's where he will always return to when the end is near and he feels himself fading. He spent this life travelling, going from place to place, country to country, for the whisper of Arthur's rebirth, a hint of a rumour that the Once and Future King might be back in this world again. But he searches in vain and in the end he'd felt himself beginning to let go and the only thing left to do had been to come back to Avalon and die once again.

Merlin doesn't always remember who he is right away, there was even one lifetime when he lived and died not knowing who he was. Back in the 1700's, he'd spent the first (rather only) 40 years of that life feeling alone and incomplete, like he didn't quite fit with the world. It took a blow to the head for it all to come rushing back to him and for a brief few moments he'd had purpose, that hole in his heart had been filled once again with the knowledge that he'd been waiting for someone. Arthur would come back to him. Unfortunately the blow to his head had also killed him and when he'd awoken again, in the body of a toddler, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself (internally of course because how many toddlers chuckle to themselves?). 

Merlin has never been able to decide which feeling is worse. Those occasions where he feels incomplete but doesn't know why or feeling that way and knowing it's because Arthur has yet to return to him, that maybe he never will. Maybe he'll spend a thousand lifetimes waiting for him to return and eventually he'll give up, grow tired of being born, living in hope and then dying alone- lather, rinse, repeat. It's soul destroying in a way, because sometimes Merlin remembers right from the very beginning, from birth, and he grows up with the knowledge of who he is and who he's waiting for. It's hard to grow up that way, to be five years old and know that he's already got hundreds of years weighing on his soul. It exhausts him to get old that way, searching everyday for a sight of him, a whisper of his return. But nothing. He passes the decades feeling lonely and heartbroken, detached from himself and the world because he isn't like them. He's seen so many things throughout his lives, some terrible things and some not so terrible things but in all of those lives he has yet to see the one thing he dreams of seeing. Arthur's face, smiling at him. Heck, he'd even take Arthur glaring at him and calling him useless. Anything just to see him again.

He remembers one life where they'd locked him away in an asylum. He'd gotten so desperate for his king's rebirth that he'd taken to sharing stories of his first life, of himself as Arthur's manservant and the adventures they went on together. The children enjoyed them but the adults were wary of him and when that desperation grew as the tales went on, as he reached the end and told them of Arthur's death, how he'd held him until he couldn't bare it any longer, they'd thought he was insane. He spent his life in that asylum, trying to get the other patients to help him look, asking the staff over and over again if they were sure he'd be coming back, because he missed him quite terribly you see. He just wanted to have him in his life again, even if it was just for a moment. But no such luck and eventually he'd committed suicide. 

He remembers every single one of his lives, some blur into others and he often confuses small details because the years have become a mountain of memories, but he can usually distinguish one life from the next. He hates that bit the most because every mistake he's ever made comes with him to the next life, every feeling of sadness and loneliness is there. It's like this overwhelming pressure on his body, crushing his bones and tearing the air from his lungs. But he deals with it everyday of every life because eventually it won't matter, because eventually Arthur will return to him and all those feelings will be insignificant compared to the relief and happiness and hope he'll feel.

Merlin dies in hospital, aged 67, lonely and miserable with the desperate hope that the next time will be the last time he has to live and die.


	2. London's Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (See notes at end)

Merlin was beginning to think that moving to London had been a bad idea. He’d brought it up to his mum months ago, when the well of news to report in Ealdor dried up and the weekly newspaper was no longer selling. He’d wanted to be a journalist for as long as he could remember. He’d created a fantasy newspaper for his mother every week for almost three months when he was seven. He’d told stories of wayward giants stepping on the flower beds and magical snow storms that would take over the village until everyone was frozen in their place. His mum would read them with gusto, laugh at all the terrible jokes and then tuck them away in a special box, full of the things he’d made for her over the years. Every now and again, when she thought Merlin was asleep, she’d take them out and read through them, laugh again at all the terrible jokes and stroke the worn pages softly. Merlin was never asleep when she did this. He’d sit on the stairs and watch his mum chuckle, safe in the knowledge that she was too happy to notice him there. 

Eventually he’d had his growth spurt and sitting on the stairs was harder because his mum could see the tufts of his hair sticking over the railings. She’d call him down and they’d look through them together and maybe, if she was in the right mood, she would get the photo albums out as well. They contained the only photographs she had of his dad. Hunith didn’t often speak of his dad beyond the brief words of encouragement, telling him his father would surely be proud of him. She didn’t talk about where he was or why he left; Merlin didn’t even know if the man was still alive, because every time he brought it up in conversation she would go quite and change the subject, or offer to make more tea. So he stopped asking. He didn’t need to know, not really, not when he had a mother as caring as Hunith was, a mother who encouraged him in every endeavour, even if it was sure to end in disaster. One time, Merlin had decided he’d like to be Tarzan and had taken to tying ropes on all the trees, trying to swing around the garden like he’d seen Tarzan do in the film. He ended up with a broken arm and whilst Hunith had looked at him worriedly (and a little disapprovingly) she’d told him he was the best ape man she’d ever seen and held his hand the entire way to the hospital.

She encouraged Merlin when he applied to university to study journalism, she drove him there, helped him unpack and cried when she said goodbye. But more importantly, she didn’t judge him when, a year down the line, he decided university wasn’t his thing and dropped out. Instead she got him an interview for a job at the local newspaper. It had been great at first because he’d never written anything that had been published before. All the people on his course at university had come along with their portfolios full to bursting of published articles in local papers, titles as creator of the school newsletter and blogs that got thousands of hits a day. But the only thing he’d done was make those papers for his mum as a child and he couldn’t well take them in for some arrogant warped form of show and tell, could he? So the novelty of getting his words published in something people actually read kept him in high spirits for a year. 

They’d had him covering on going ‘investigations’ into a missing dog and they’d responded… well badly to the story he’d written that suggested the dog might have ran away from Mrs Murdoch because she was a terrible pet owner who didn’t walk it enough. That’s when he knew. There was no future for him at the paper, and he didn’t want to be stuck reporting boring local news forever. He wanted excitement, he wanted change, and he wanted adventure. So after weeks of thinking it through he told his mum about the plan to move away. It wouldn’t be the first time. She’d survived a year without him while he’d been at uni and he’d visit as often as he could. He just had to get away. He wanted more than Ealdor could offer him any more. 

His flat wasn’t great. It was in a pretty rough area and the rent was higher than he’d thought it could be for what he was getting, but it was London. It was a big city, the capital of the country. The air was vile with pollution; the sound of traffic never let up and walking down the streets without treading in something unpleasant was a veritable mission. But London held opportunities to do more, to be more. So Merlin put up with the bright lights and noise at night time, the chewing gum on the bottom of all his shoes and the notion that he’d probably be dirt poor for the rest of his life. There were a ton of newspapers based in London, there must be someone willing to take him on as a journalist, he’d even take being a columnist until he could find a better arrangement.  
He applied to a dozen positions in various places, confident in the knowledge that his previously published articles (barring the ones about Mrs Murdoch’s missing dog) and CV would be enough to impress someone. He didn’t get the first, or the second and by the fifth rejection he was beginning to see a pattern. Nobody wanted to hire a young man who’d never finished university and only had the experience of working at a tiny local newspaper that probably only printed 200 copies a week. There were a ton of new, fresh faces coming to London these days, all eagerly vying for the same few jobs and Merlin didn’t quite make the cut. 

Merlin sat at home in the evenings, trying to prepare himself for the next day of interviews and the inevitable rejections and working out his finances. He wasn’t a big spender. He had a lot of savings and he’d planned his budget carefully before he moved, but that was back when he thought he might get a job straight off the bat, that he’d have a steady income and his savings could go towards buying new furniture for the flat, new clothes for work, maybe a fancy dinner now and again. As it stood, his savings would cover him for one month’s worth of rent and perhaps the bills he’d have to pay on top of that, but not much more. That left Merlin a month to find a job and if the previous two weeks were anything to go by, that wasn’t a huge possibility.

*

There was no milk in the fridge, no bread in the cupboard and the only cereal he had was the stale cornflakes he’d brought from home. He’d checked his back yesterday and it was near enough empty, he’d paid his rent, his water, gas and electricity, bought as much food as he could with as little money as possible and splurged on a goldfish he’d seen on his walk home from another failed interview. It had been the last fish in the tank, swimming around and looking lonely. It looked very much like Merlin felt and he hadn’t been able to leave it there on its own. So he’d bought it and it sat on his shelf in a plastic fish bowl he’d stolen from a club back in his university days and had been used to store shot glasses in for as long as he could remember.

“We’ve got to find a job Kilgharrah…” 

And he occasionally talked to it. 

The fish just continued swimming because unlike Merlin, it didn’t have to worry about rent being due and whether he’d have to go another week with a minimal food budget because the money in his bank was slipping away from him like sand in an hour glass. All it had to worry about was making sure it didn’t swim head first into its bowl again. Merlin had a newspaper at his feet, opened to the job advertisements, with a red pen in hand. He’d almost given up getting a job in journalism, he just wanted (or rather, he needed) any job, because time was running out and his landlord might have been friendly, but would he stand for late rent? Probably not. 

There were advertisements for dog walkers, elderly carers and A level tutors, guitar teachers, actors for a student film project and hairdressers, but nothing Merlin thought he might have a chance at. He wanted tea but he was out of tea bags, milk and sugar. His stomach rumbled unhappily and there was nothing he could do about it because he’d ran out of food two days ago. He needed to go shopping but one more shopping trip would zero his bank balance. It was a scary thought, having absolutely no money, but as the hunger pains increased he realised there was nothing left to do. 

There were a strip of small, personally owned shops along one of the streets on his way to the local Tesco. Whenever he wasn’t in a hurry he liked to peer through the windows, look at all the little trinkets on display and think about buying them if only he had some money. He walked past the china shop owned by a small Asian woman who smiled at him when he looked inside and occasionally let him watch her painting the china when he was brave enough to go in. There was a newsagents owned by a beefy man who often looked at porn magazines when there was no one in the shop and he didn’t know Merlin was standing at the window, looking in. And then there was Elyan’s, a men's clothing store right at the end of the strip. Merlin liked Elyan’s the best. He liked looking at all the clothes in neat piles, the immaculately dressed mannequins and the lady that ran the place. She was small, short and Petit with the kind of hair that looked like it must be a pain to brush in the morning- long and naturally wavy in a rich brown that reminded Merlin too much of the chocolate he could no longer afford to buy. 

He didn’t know her name and he’d never set foot inside but whenever he spent too long staring she would wave at him and flash him a quick smile. That smile did things to Merlin’s insides that he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t that he found her attractive (although she was very beautiful), it was just that when he looked at her he felt like he was home again and he hadn't felt like that since he'd moved away. There was a warm familiarity to it, like he'd looked upon that smile a thousand time and it made his insides squirm until he was forced to smile back before being on his way. As he was passing Elyan's that day, trying to figure out how he was going to make the small shop he'd be able to afford, last until he could find a job, he noticed the small piece of card taped to the door and he stopped.

_Help required. Full time sales assistant.  
No experience necessary. Apply within._

Well fuck. It had to be fate or something because Merlin had quite literally run out of both options and money. He was all but ready to pack up and return to Ealdor (apart from the fact that he'd signed a 12 month contract for the flat) and just when he'd lost all hope, there it was. It was like a shining beacon of light in an otherwise gloomy world (forgive the cliché). It couldn't hurt to apply, surely, and he had nothing to lose. With that thought in mind he pushed open the door and stepped inside. It smelled like new denim and lilies and there was the soft sound of Brit pop playing in the background.

“Finally worked up the nerve to come inside then? I don't bite you know.”

The voice made him jump because he couldn't see the women it belonged to and it was softer than he expected it to be, slightly husky but very sweet. She appeared from behind one of the racks, popping up like a jack in the box and Merlin couldn't help jumping again. 

“Uh, yeah. I saw your sign. About the job? It said to apply inside so...” Merlin trailed off because she was just staring at him, small smile playing on her lips and hands on her hips. She kind of reminded him of his mother. In a non creepy way. 

“Ah yes, the job. Well I had a student working here for a while but they left a few months back and I've been trying to juggle both jobs by myself. It wasn't really working, I was clocking too many hours here and not enough at home, you know?” 

“Yeah,” only he actually didn't because he was unemployed. “I don't have any experience working in a shop but I'm a fast learner. I really need this job... I just move here and my bank is pretty dry. I've got all these bills to pay and rent and nowhere is hiring!” He was rambling. Not a good idea in front of a prospective employer.

“I understand, really I do. My boyfriend was out of a job for months before he managed to find something. How about this, we set you up on a trial shift and if you like it, and I like you, by the end then we'll talk about making it official?” 

She was honestly an angel in human form. She must have been. There was not other explanation.

“That would be amazing. Honestly, that would be great, thank you.” He stuck his hand out for her to shake, “I'm Merlin.”

“Nice to meet you Merlin, I'm Gwen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer, slightly happier and only a day between updates. Can't promise they'll stay that frequent but enjoy!


	3. A Gentleman Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. Except for the delusional fantasies running rampant in my mind...

Working with Gwen is kind of like working with an over protective mother looking over his shoulder for the first few weeks. She was wary of that fact that he had no experience and that just happened to translate to her following him around for hours and standing directly behind him when he was serving a customer, just in case he was suddenly incapable of smiling and giving good customer service. It should have been annoying, he supposed, but Gwen was an exception to all the rules he'd ever seemed to have and he couldn't quite fathom why.

The trial shift had gone down well for both of them. Gwen had taught Merlin the right way to fold clothes to be put on display and she taught him how to take the mannequins down and apart in order to redress them. He’d served two customers in the first hour with her guidance of what buttons to push and in between customers she taught him how she expected him to behave in front of customers. It wasn’t his ideal job and he most certainly didn’t want to stay there forever but it was a job that paid weekly, he got full time hours and Gwen was lovely. It was more than he'd come to expect from London, what with his experience so far being nothing short of depressing and slightly scary.

She’d taken him on after that and the relief he felt knowing he wouldn’t be evicted from his flat, wouldn’t have to live on next to no food for more than a week, was so overwhelming that he’d literally bear hugged her before he could stop himself (in all fairness, he might have done even if he'd been able to stop himself).

“Calm down Merlin! A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

But she was laughing as she said it and trying to escape Merlin’s tight hold.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning as he let her go and took to twitching his hands with excitement instead.

“Apology accepted. So I think we should go and celebrate, you’ve finally got yourself a job; I can finally stop working 24 hours a day. It seems to me that we’ve both got things to be happy about. I’ll give Lance a ring and maybe he’ll meet us at the pub.”

Merlin was completely up for a drink.

They’d met lance at the pub as promised and Merlin had stared for just a bit because he was a little bit gorgeous, but sadly a lot taken. Why did all the attractive ones have to be taken or straight, or both? But seeing how Gwen had rushed up to him, almost jumped on him and rambled for a good ten minutes about the happy news, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to be jealous of Gwen, or annoyed at her for taking all the good ones (there she was, breaking all his rules again). It wasn’t until they’d each got a pint and found a table that Gwen realised she hadn’t introduced them.

“Merlin, this is my boyfriend Lance. Lance this is my newest saviour, Merlin.”

“Lance is a pretty unusual name.”

Foot in mouth…

“I don’t think you have much room to talk. Merlin? Really?” But he was laughing too and so Merlin thought he must not have done too much damage with his runaway mouth. “It’s short for Lancelot if you must know, because my mother apparently hated me when I was born. You can’t imagine the amount of stick I got for my name in school. Or maybe you can. Merlin.” He chuckled again, more to himself this time and Merlin felt his lips twitch upwards at the sound.

Lance was a talker, which was clear from the beginning. He was open and honest, he had no qualms with sharing stories with random strangers he’d just met.

Wait.  
Lancelot.  
And Gwen.

“Anyone ever tell you two your names are kind of a coincidence? Lancelot and Guinevere. And Merlin.”

There was an odd tugging feeling in his stomach at that thought. It felt like déjà vu, but it was more, it was heavier than any déjà vu he’d ever experienced. He’d felt that way before, as he’d grown up little things would trigger it. He’d be riding his bike around the village, pretending it was a horse, and he’d get the most profound feeling. It was like a memory he couldn’t quite remember, like he’d done all of it before a hundred times over. His body always felt so heavy, weighed down with a sense of loss, of longing and guilt and happiness. His mum had told him he’d probably dreamed it at some point and forgotten by the time he awoke that morning. But to Merlin it felt like more than that. It felt like there was a silver string tugging at his mind and if he could only follow that string, he might find the answer to that feeling.

“You wouldn’t be the first to say it mate. Mum laughed for a week straight when I told her I’d met Gwen. She was so sure I was making her up to get back at her for the fact that she named me ‘Lancelot’.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” Gwen replied. Well, wasn’t that the answer of the day.

*

For the first month of his employment, Gwen rarely let him out of her sight (although she did eventually stop following him around) even though the things he did everyday were pretty much set into an infallible routine. There was something comforting about knowing she was there though. Should he need her help, she was never too far away and always open to giving him assistance.

By the second month started getting to know who the regular customers were, the ones who came in every other week or so to check out the new stock or, in Gwaine’s case he was coming to realise, check out Merlin while he worked. If Merlin thought Lancelot was attractive, he’d practically fainted the first time he saw Gwaine. He’d stood there nervously, trying to answer his questions about sizing but failing miserably because he couldn’t stop stuttering. And Gwen had had the nerve to chuckle before she told Gwaine he had to stop scaring her only employee away.

“The name’s Gwaine. Nice to meet you.”

Smirk. Quick lick of his lips. He oozed a potent dose of his rampant sexuality and Merlin could do little more than stand with his mouth slightly agape and desperately search for words that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete loser.

“Merlin. I, uh, I just started working here a few weeks ago,” Merlin stuttered rather unattractively, cheeks heating up and voice reaching a pitch he wasn’t aware he could achieve. Smooth. But Gwaine didn’t seem to mind, no doubt happy on the knowledge that he’d managed to effect Merlin in such a way. They shook hands, Gwaine still leering appreciatively at him and he felt his cheeks burning hotter by the second because no one had really looked at him like that before.

“You’re a pretty one, especially when you blush like that,” Gwaine commented. Merlin kind of wished that the ground would just open up and swallow him because honestly, if he blushed any harder, he’d resemble a red balloon and there was absolutely nothing ‘pretty’ about that.

“I – uh – I’m just going to – uh – get the – uh – new stock to…” He left before he could finish his sentence, scuttling away with his head down, his cheeks pink and his fingers bone white from clenching them too hard to stop his nerves. Bloody hell.

Gwaine came by every week after that, purchased something almost every time but spent more of his visit trying to coax Merlin into blushing again. He was lewd with his comments and whilst Merlin had been known for his snappy wit back in Ealdor, he found there was little he could do when Gwaine’s flirting felt much like running head first into a wall, he was left disorientated and wondering what the fuck was going on.

“So, you know you want to come for a drink one you get off work,” Gwaine said with that infuriating confidence in himself. “Just you, me and a couple of beers. What do you say?” Well, looks like a date, sounds like a date, must be a date.

“Well, I uh – I guess I could but I haven’t exactly got a lot of spare cash right now. My electric and gas just went out and it murdered my balance.”

“No worries mate, it’s on me.”

 _Mate?_  Picture Merlin confused. Was it a date or a friendly get together that just happened to only involve the two of them and what would probably end up being, if Gwaine’s stories were to be believed, a lot of alcohol? Well, he certainly wasn’t going to just ask him.

“Sure. Um, should I meet you at the pub or…?”

“I’ll come get you after you finish. Can’t have you wandering around London looking like that. Someone else might sweep you away.” With a wink he was gone and Merlin was left, once again, wide eyes and slack jawed.

*

I wasn’t a date.

And Gwaine had lied just a bit when he said it would be the two of them.  
When they’d arrived, Gwaine had taken them straight to a table at the back, a table that already had three other people sitting at it. Lancelot was there and he smiled when he saw Merlin, pulled out the chair next to him and patted it invitingly.

“Oi, Leon, move up a seat so I can sit next to Merlin; he doesn’t want to sit next to your ugly mug.”

Merlin was momentarily mortified because he didn’t even know the man and here Gwaine was, telling him Merlin thought he was ugly. He most certainly did not. He had a kind look, unlike Gwaine’s obvious leers and flirtatious smirk, Leon had a gentle smile and head of soft curls that Merlin kind of wanted to touch. He flashed a look at Merlin before he spoke.

“I’d be offended if I didn’t know Gwaine was a total bastard. I’m Leon, you must be Merlin. Gwaine was kind enough to tell us all about how he thinks you have the prettiest lips he’s ever seen.”

Oh God.

“Shut up, Leon. You’ll embarrass him.” He turned to Merlin then, and motioned for him to sit down in the seat Lance had offered him. “So you know Leon now and you already know Lance. This is Percy. Don’t be fooled by his size, he’s a total pussy cat behind those muscles.”

Merlin couldn’t see it, he really couldn’t imagine how someone Percy’s size could be at all gentle. His biceps bulged within the confines of his sleeves and he was a good head taller than Merlin was, so Merlin was understandably wary, even when Percy raised his glass to him and reached out to shake his hand.

He’d been so overwhelmed by meeting Percy and Leon that he’d all but forgotten he’d thought the drinks might have been a date, until Lance asked him if Gwaine had stopped harassing him at work yet.

“Oi! I don’t harass him. I’m totally courting him by allowing him to bask in my awesome. Isn’t that right Merlin?” Gwaine chuckled, elbow nudging Merlin’s ribs to get him to answer.

“Yeah, and Vivian is just  _courting_  Arthur when she stalks him...” Leon trails off and Percy sniggers behind his pint glass. Merlin can't help but feel out of the loop; he has no idea who Vivian is, or Arthur for that matter, but he's sure her actions can't really be compared to Gwaine's because at least Gwaine's advances weren't unwelcome. In fact they were very welcome. Very welcome indeed.


End file.
